Rescued
by SimplyMe51
Summary: Sam and Dean rescue a deaf teenager from a monster in the woods. Outsider POV.


When I come to I'm sitting on a cave floor, tied to the same post in the middle of the woods that I've been tied to for the past two days, the rest of my camping party still nowhere in sight. A tall, shaggy-haired man is kneeling next to me with a knife and I tense, worried that this is the man who killed my friends. My memory is hazy but I remember returning to the campsite, having gone to get water, to find my friends missing, blood strewn about. There was a noise behind me and then I had woken here, three of my four friends with me. One by one, each time I had woken up, they had been missing.

The man smiles though, putting a finger to his lips, and his face is kind, if a little sad. I nod, relaxing slightly as he shifts, knife rubbing at the ropes behind me. I glance up to find another man standing watch over the both of us, gun held firmly in his hands. A duffle is thrown over his shoulder and his gaze is constantly moving, on the lookout for danger as he stands firm above us. When his gaze meets mine he smiles slightly, nodding in greeting, and I can't help but offer a tentative smile in return, despite the situation. My smile only makes his brighter and I can tell he's glad that I'm okay.

Being deaf means that I've gotten very good at reading people.

The ropes snap and my arms fall loose. The man with the knife places a large hand on my shoulder, steadying me, and I bring my arms forward, rubbing my wrists. He shifts, moving from his kneeling position to a crouch, and makes a gesture that I interpret as him wanting me to stand. I wonder if he knows that I'm deaf or if he just wants me to remain quiet.

I nod and he stands with me, both hands on my arm as he helps me up. I smile shakily only to take a step forward and practically collapse in the man's arms. Searing pain shoots up my leg and a glance at my ankle has me realize that I won't be going anywhere. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes from both the pain and the situation and the man with the gun is gazing at me in concern.

His eyes flicker to the taller one's – and just now do I realize that he is _tall_, easily a foot taller than me and several inches taller than the other man – and he says something, opening his mouth and speaking in quick sharp words I can't make out. My rescuer just nods in response, scooping me up in his large arms and cradling me to his chest. My weakened state makes my panicked response rather slow and I barely react. I want to protest, I don't know these strangers, don't know if they're just trying to gain my trust, don't know if they're the ones who killed my friends, but when my eyes meet the eyes of the man who is holding me I relax. He's smiling gently at me, speaking with concern etched in every line on his face, and I manage to read 'It's alright' from his lips.

I nod slowly, still nervous, wondering if he speaks slowly for my benefit or because he's still being quiet, and then he _moves_. I watch the shorter man in front of us as they trek quickly through the forest and my muddled mind is surprised at what I find. He's incredibly graceful, moving through the forest as if he grew up here. He stalks forward, speed somewhere between a walk and a jog, each movement firm and purposeful. These men clearly know exactly where they're going and I wonder if they're park rangers.

But no, if they were rangers they would be wearing uniforms, or badges. If they were rangers there would be a search party, a larger group to meet up with. Not that I would be able to hear them. Besides, as far as everyone knows I'm still camping.

I shift my tired gaze back up to the man carrying me, surprised that he is moving just as swiftly as his friend. My weight doesn't seem to affect him and his strong arms hold me tightly, not wavering.

They hike for what must be a mile before pausing, coming to a halt in a small clearing. We're probably ten miles from the nearest town and I'm regretting ever agreeing to this camping trip. My parents had worried a great deal but I had assured them that all my friends knew sign language and I had wanted to prove that I could do it. Now my friends are most likely dead – something that still hasn't hit me yet.

My rescuer sets me down gracefully and gently on a fallen log, keeping one arm on my shoulder to steady me. I wince slightly as my injured foot hits the ground but smile gratefully up at him. He just nods, a slight smile on his face, before turning a worried gaze to his friend.

I watch his lips as he says something but I'm too tired to make it out, too tired to try and decipher the words his lips are saying. When he finishes I shift my gaze to his friend's face, relying on the man's expressions to tell me what's going on. He nods, similar worry on his face, and glances up to the sky before he responds, gesturing in the direction we had been heading as he speaks. I glance up at the sky myself, recognizing that night is falling through the gaps in the trees. The taller man nods in response, crouching down beside me, worry on his face.

He stares at me intently before speaking, as though making sure I'm paying attention, and I make sure to watch closely, reading his lips. 'We're almost there,' he seems to be saying, gesturing in the same direction the other man had. I nod, signaling that I understand, wanting to ask where but doubting that these two know sign language. I've never been confident speaking in front of people either. I've never heard the sound of my own voice and I always worry I'm saying the wrong thing. He holds out his arms, hesitantly, as though asking my permission, and I nod again, allowing him to pick me up once more.

This time I sink into his hold on me, too tired to be embarrassed any longer or worried about who these men are. I was grateful for the reprieve, for the pause from being jostled against the man's strong chest despite how cautiously he carried me, but I just want to leave these woods, to go home. I'm tired and exhausted and I haven't eaten or drank for over a day. It's a struggle for me to keep my eyes open and as we move I allow myself to sink into the welcoming blackness of sleep.

I only wake when the man sets me down again, blinking furiously as I try to take in my surroundings. I almost flinch back when I notice the large shape looming over me but as a light turns on in the background I realize it's just my rescuer, standing after having leaned over to set me down. I'm resting on the only bed in what appears to be a one room cabin. The bed is tucked neatly into the corner, giving me a good view of the room, and I glance around for the other man.

There's a couch in the center of the room, back to me but facing the door, with a rug underneath it and a small table beside it. A dresser is immediately to my right, the duffle the other man had been carrying already resting on it. Further to the right, against the far right wall, appears to be where the kitchen is and I notice the shorter man bent over, rifling through the fridge. His right arm rests on the door as he searches and the rifle is still held loosely in his hand; ready to be used at any moment.

My observations take mere seconds, though longer than they normally would have, and I drag my tired gaze back to the man standing over me. The dreamless sleep did wonders but now more than ever I'm aware of the emptiness in my stomach and the aches and pains that fill my tired body.

My rescuer smiles gently at me, his eyes still far older than they have any right to be, and his mouth begins to move as he speaks. I don't bother to read his lips, far too exhausted to make the mental effort, instead focusing solely on his expression. The slightly raised eyebrow and the concerned expression make it easy for me to guess what he asked and I nod.

As much as I don't know these men, as tired and as in pain as I am, I _am_ fine – or at least better. I feel safer in this cabin with them than I have ever felt in my life, though some part of my brain recognizes that's just because I'd never truly been scared until a few days ago.

The man's friend must have said something while I was thinking because my rescuer twists slightly at the waist, turning and raising his right hand to catch the bottle of water thrown his way. Evidently the raid of the fridge had been successful. He turns back to me, easily twisting off the cap, and I can't stop myself from staring hungrily at the bottle. When the man reaches to give it to me I grab for it, unable to hold back my shocked and hurt expression when he pulls it away.

I turn angrily toward his face only to stop short as I take in his concern. When his eyes met mine he speaks slowly and I focus on his lips. 'Slowly' is the only word I catch but it is enough. I nod, realizing the man had been afraid I'd react hastily and drink the water in one go.

Upon receiving my nod he again handed me the bottle, this time allowing me to grab it. I took the bottle eagerly, restraining myself with effort as I brought it to my lips and swallowed a small amount. My rescuer nodded upon seeing that I wasn't gulping it down and I allowed myself to take another sip of the clear, cool water. To me it felt like the sweetest drink I'd ever had and it wasn't long before the bottle was gone, the tall figure remaining standing by my bed as I drank.

When I finished he took the empty bottle from me, pointing to the bed as he asked me to stay in place. I merely nodded; I had no intention of going anywhere, especially not on my injured ankle. I sank back into the bed, having sat up slightly to drink the water, and watched the two men interact.

The taller of the two crossed the cabin in a few quick, easy, and confident strides, joining his friend in the kitchen area. By now the other man had set his gun down on the table in the corner opposite my bed and had been going though the cabinets, his own bottle of water resting on the table. He turned as my rescuer approached, tossing him another bottle of water and making a comment I didn't bother to figure out as his mouth quirked upward in a smirk.

My rescuer just caught the bottle, saying something in return as he rolled his eyes and cracked open the lid, taking his own drink. He moved forward to the trash can, dropping in my empty bottle and opening the fridge to grab a fourth bottle. Given the unfamiliarity that the shorter one had with the kitchen as he continued to take inventory I wondered if this was their cabin or if we were trespassing. I couldn't bring myself to care either way.

I watched as the taller man grabbed a granola bar from one of the open cabinets, setting his own bottle of water on the counter as he turned back toward me. I met his eyes tiredly and he smiled slightly when he caught me watching him – I didn't bother to hide the fact but I did move my eyes away, pretending to sweep the cabin, only returning my eyes to him as he reached the bed again. He offered me the granola first, placing the water on the dresser next to me.

I was thankful that he opened it for me before handing it over, knowing that I would have struggled with the packaging and not wanting to seem weak in front of these two. It was stupid and pointless but there it was. I was awake now, aware of my surroundings, in pain, and close to panicking. My friends were dead – I knew that now with certainty. I was injured. And the two men who rescued me were acting like this was any other day for them.

They moved around the cabin with purpose and with certainty but not with haste; neither of them was in a hurry. As I ate and started on the second bottle of water, making sure to drink slowly, I watched them once more. They held a quiet confidence that shimmered beneath the surface, both of them overwhelming _present_.

They had a short conversation, neither of them overly worried but a touch of concern on each of their faces, and the shorter one nodded toward the fireplace to the right of the dresser, a good ten feet from my bed. My rescuer nodded, replying and moving to the window to glance outside. His friend just rolled his eyes, but his expression was fond and he grabbed his gun off the table before heading outside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

My rescuer turned toward me and gave me a small smile, pointing toward the fireplace. I nodded, understanding the man had left to get wood. I wondered if the person that had attacked me was still out there and if that was why the other man had taken his gun with him. I smiled hesitantly at the tall man – who had moved forward to clean out the fireplace while still keeping an eye on me – and slowly signed out a question, setting the empty granola wrapper on the dresser.

(Can you understand sign language?)

He watched my hands closely, following their movements, but ultimately shook his head; his expression was apologetic as he spoke what I gathered was an apology. He did move his hands though, making the sign for S and pointing toward himself. When he repeated the movement I nodded, understanding that he was telling me his name, or at least part of it. He then signed an A, followed by an M. Sam, my rescuers name was Sam. Next he pointed out the door, where his friend had gone, and made the hand sign for D, followed by E, A, and N. I nodded again. Sam and Dean, now at least I knew the names of the people who had saved me – I was grateful they had short names though, otherwise we would have been here a while.

I appreciated the effort Sam was making because I could tell he was struggling to remember each letter, some of them are quite similar to one another, so what he did next surprised me. His right hand moved upward and, without hesitation, he signed the word for brother. It was clear that whenever he had taken the time to learn sign language in the past that that word had stuck with him through the years.

There was no doubt in my mind that Sam and Dean were close, what I had seen had been evidence enough of that. Sam's movements made me actually contemplate who my rescuers were though. What kind of people went looking in the woods on their own to rescue missing campers? And how did they know we'd been missing anyway? They couldn't be Park Rangers, and Search and Rescue would have to meet up with other people. That meant they were doing this on their own, without reason or profit. I took another sip of my second water bottle. Whoever they were, they had saved my life. For that I was grateful.

There wasn't much to do after that. Darkness fell quickly and Sam splinted my ankle while Dean came back and started a fire. Later, Sam handed me some more granola bars and helped me walk to the bathroom - he didn't have to carry me this time, for which I was grateful. I _wasn't_ helpless, something I'd been trying to prove to others my whole life as I lived with being deaf. But aside from that I mostly lay on the bed, resting and eating for the night. I couldn't really communicate with them, nor they with me, but that didn't stop them from talking to each other. With little else to do I watched them interact until I fell asleep.

Dean was older I guessed, always making the decisions, which Sam followed easily. They pulled salt from their duffle without even speaking to each other, spreading it across the doorway and on the windowsills. They were always in sync too, aware of what the other was doing at all times. They knew what they were doing, and they had clearly done this before. I fell asleep slowly, confident in their ability to protect me - and each other.

The next day Sam woke me early, as the sun was still rising, and helped me to the bathroom once more. Dean was up already as well, putting out the remnants of the fire. It couldn't tell if either of them had slept but I was willing to bet that they had taken turns.

I finished off the last granola for breakfast, along with yet another water bottle, and watched as Sam and Dean conversed quickly and heatedly. Clearly they seemed to be arguing about something. Dean gestured back the way we had come but Sam only responded by glancing pointedly at me. I wondered if the argument was go back or help me go forward. If that was the case then Sam won, the three of us continuing onward together, gun still firmly held in Dean's hands as he took the lead.

Sam remained close to me, at the back of our little party, but he didn't offer to pick me up again, for which I was grateful. I was still fatigued and weak but my ankle had been splinted and the water, granola, and sleep had done wonders. I didn't want to be carried.

Eventually, after an hour or two, we reached a road, a gas station in site probably half a mile away. The brothers hesitated, conferring quickly, and then Sam approached me. He pointed at me, then toward the gas station, then at him and Dean and back into the woods. Clearly this is where we separated. I glanced over at the gas station and nodded, watching as they turned back to the woods. Something told me this was likely to be the last I saw of my rescuers, whether they succeeded in their goal or not.

I gathered up my courage and opened my mouth, remembering everything I had been taught and enunciating as best I could. "Be careful," I told the brothers.

They looked back at me and I could tell I had managed to surprise them. Dean threw me a thumbs up, grinning, and Sam's smile was blinding. (Thanks) he signed quickly, flashing one last grin before they disappeared into the woods. I watched them go for as long as I could, then made my own way home.

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**AN: This is my first attempt writing for the Supernatural fandom, so please let me know how you thought I did and how my characterization of Sam and Dean was.**

**As an interesting side not, this was also a bit of an experiment for me. You may have noticed, while reading the story, that I never gave my OC (the deaf teenager) a gender. That was completely intentional. I did, however, write the character with a specific gender in mind so I'm asking you - what gender do you think the character is? Or was my character so underdeveloped that you couldn't form an opinion? Or maybe you just don't think it matters. Let me know.**

**Thanks for reading! **


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